Chapter 8: The Blacksmiths’ Village (1)

　After a two-day journey by carriage from the royal capital, passing through several post towns, I arrived at my destination.

　Buildings clustered on open land between mountains, surrounded by fields planted with many vegetables. Numerous chimneys rose in the distance.

　This was a village of craftspeople who made weapons and armor.

　Some had workshops in the royal capital, but their work sometimes required forging iron through the night. Out of consideration for their neighbors, they had gathered here, a short distance from the capital.

　The number of workshops seemed to have grown considerably since my visit four years earlier.

　Perhaps that was because sword making required many specialists, from those who fashioned hilts to those who made leather sheaths.

　I went to an old building at the far end of the village and knocked. A plump elderly woman in an apron peered outside.

“Oh, what a rare visitor.”

“Hello. Um, I’m…”

“Hmm! Wait a moment… Your face looks familiar. Ah, I remember!”

　As we spoke at the doorway, a tremendous crash and a low rumble suddenly came from somewhere nearby. The house creaked and shook.

“You! What are you doing? You’re frightening my guest!”

　Her expression transformed, and she ran outside, shouting toward the workshop and chimney behind the house.

“Honestly, not again. Well, since you’re already here, come along. My husband is the one you’re looking for, isn’t he?”

　I panicked because I had not yet introduced myself, but followed the woman. If I remembered correctly, she was Mr. Dolph’s wife, Barbara.

　Before me stood a magnificently bearded man who resembled a dwarf from a story and another, much taller man. Beside them, an enormous long-handled axe nearly as tall as I was stood embedded in the ground.

　The dwarf-like man was the blacksmith I had come to see, Mr. Dolph.

“Oh, Barbara. Sorry. He put too much force into it.”

　Mr. Dolph laughed heartily. Then he noticed me, stroked his magnificent beard, and looked thoughtful.

“A guest? You must be… Wait a moment. Now I remember.”

　He repeated almost exactly what Barbara had said, leaving me no opportunity to introduce myself.

　Meanwhile, the tall man nearby turned toward me and scratched his head, looking embarrassed.

“Miss, I’m sorry if I startled you. Old Man Dolph’s work is so good that I’m the one who got carried away.”

“No, I’m the one who arrived without notice. Please don’t worry.”

　The man had a well-trained body and excellent posture. Could he be a knight?

　If so, he might have heard about my scandal. I swallowed the bitterness rising in my chest and tried to remain calm. Then Barbara clapped her hands sharply.

“Ah, I remember! You’re Flora, the duck-soup girl!”

“Oh, Duck-Soup Flora? Yes, yes! That brings back memories.”

　Mr. Dolph and Barbara exchanged glances, then beamed at me like a clear midsummer sky.

“…That sounds delicious. What kind of nickname is that?”

　The tall man stared openmouthed.

　I too was bewildered by the unexpected way they remembered me. Still, I was glad the couple had not forgotten me, and the tension left my shoulders.

　Four years ago, when I was still a novice seamstress and could not afford to buy a sword, I came to Mr. and Mrs. Dolph to ask whether there was anything I could do in exchange for one.

　It happened to be the slow season for seamstresses, so I spent approximately three months helping the Dolphs with farmwork and household chores. In return, they gave me a sword.

　Duck soup was one of my specialties, and the couple loved it so much that I made it many times—almost every day, as I recalled.

“Just remembering it is making me hungry. Perfect. Let’s have something to eat.”

“Good idea. Come along, Flora, Gilbert. I’m afraid we don’t have duck soup today, but since you’re here, we’ll treat you to a meal.”

　With that, Dolph and Barbara cheerfully returned to the house.

“…They really are a carefree couple. I’m Gilbert. It’s nice to meet you, Flora of the Duck Soup.”

“Y-Yes.”

　The tall man, Gilbert, smiled at me with the same open warmth as the Dolphs.

“If you’ll be in the village for a while, may I look forward to tasting this famous duck soup?”

　I did not know how to answer his quiet remark. I had only meant to greet Mr. Dolph, and if Gilbert knew the rumors from the royal capital, I wondered how he would react. Unable to find a suitable response, I silently followed him.

“By the way, isn’t the young man you gave the sword to with you today?”

　As we sat around the table, sipping tea after lunch, Mr. Dolph suddenly asked the question as though it had only just occurred to him.

　There was not a trace of malice in his voice—only innocent curiosity—but I could not help choking on my words.

“We married… and he survived the recent campaign. But I’m afraid we have since separated.”

　I had barely summarized the situation when Gilbert suddenly leaned forward.

“Could you possibly be… the wife of Holy Knight Elliot?”

　—I knew it. He has heard.

　Even if I concealed my former husband’s status as a Holy Knight, there could not be many women divorced immediately after the Order’s triumphant return.

“His ex-wife, actually.”

　I tried to lighten the mood with a smile, though I could not tell whether I succeeded.

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